


What Would I Do Without You?

by vibrantankles



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bones and Spock have always been friends, Bones is a cranky pants, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Is Spock made of glass?, Pretty much from Bones POV because yes, Sometimes Kirk doesn't get it, Triad - Freeform, Triumvirate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 00:46:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7913881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vibrantankles/pseuds/vibrantankles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of slice of life type stories about the human (or Vulcan) condition,  aboard the Enterprise, from the point of view of my favorite cranky-pants, crabby physician, Dr. Leonard H "Bones" McCoy.  He is a healer at his core.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Would I Do Without You?

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the stories will be set before Beyond, some during, some after, but almost all are based on the fact that I *loved* Beyond, beyond measure, and I'm so glad Simon, Doug and Justin remembered the ensemble, and that Star Trek's heart and soul has always been based upon the triumvirate of Kirk, Spock and McCoy. I've loved their triad since TOS. And Urban and Quinto have ridiculous chemistry together. Just sayin'.

Spock hadn't been feeling well for days. It doesn't take a genius CMO with three degrees (one of them was a Ph.d, in human psychology, but whatever) to see the slightly more stick-up-his-ass expression the XO was wearing of late, the minutely tighter way he held his shoulders, the greenish tinge to his face, or the fact that, when he walked by me in the ship's hallway, his body heat felt like an old-fashioned blast furnace.

(I actually do have three degrees and am considered in many respectable circles to be a genius, [but not in Spock's opinion, not at all]), and I've pretty much figured out that something was up, health-wise, with our resident, reticent half-human, half-hobgoblin. The figuring it out was only half the problem, though. Actually, it wasn't even half the problem. It was more like a tiny blip on the radar. The real challenge would be getting Spock to admit it. And then the other challenge, the one where Spock allows me to do something about it. 

Being the highly skilled and tactful medical professional that I am, I tried the discreet approach first:

"How's it going there. You alright? You look kind of peaked. You're not constipated or anything are you?"

That went about as well as expected. Right around the time I took a breath to suggest some raisins or prunes to help move things along, intestinally speaking, Spock silently turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction, away from me, without even aknowledging that I'd spoken at all. 

That in and of itself isn't unusual. Spock often ignores me....usually whenever I talk. I have that effect on people. 

I just shrugged my shoulders and reminded myself that the First Officer was undeniably made of tough stock, and if he was really sick, logic dictated that he report to the MedBay. Which is where I can usually be found, most of the time. It was probably just a sour stomach or something, like maybe Spock had gotten ahold of some bad plomeek...though that didn't explain the rise in body temp...

Well, if it got really worrisome, I'll report Spock to Jim. 

If I'm really feeling gleefully spiteful, I'll sic Spock's girlfriend Uhura on him.

Somehow I'm not reassuring myself.

See, those closest to Spock also part of the problem right now: the two people who Spock might actually half-listen to hadn't seen much of him lately. The Enterprise is in orbit around some planet or other (names of planets didn't mean much to me). There's a cartography project going on, which means Spock as science office wasn't on the bridge much. He's wherever the cartographers work, somewhere in the bowels of this tin can. And Communications had some translating thing going on too, which meant Nyota was putting in long hours with her people. 

So, I'd guess Spock's usual support group haven't been seeing that much of him to notice that something was off with him.

I keep reminding himself that Spock was a grown man with an IQ off the charts and out the windows, and with a physiology that often repaired itself. 

And without meaning to or wanting to, I also keep reminding myself that this particular logical being has often behaved like a college student with high functioning autism at a keg party. And that if something were to happen to him, there's an awful lot of people who'd be lost without him, and I don't want that on my head. I mean, I'd throw a party if he were to go away, but Jim and Nyota--well.

I decided I'd wait and see, give it some patience. If Spock didn't want help, then...I'd wait until he'd at least be willing to accept it. Whatever was ailing him didn't seem to be interfering with doing his duties, after all.

Bad idea, turns out. On a scale of bad decisions, this ranks right up there with marrying Jocelyn and joining Star Fleet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
I didn't realize just how bad this decision was until two days later, when we'd left orbit from the cartography planet and took up orbit over some other nameless ball in the sky. 

Spock and Jim returned from a routine meet and greet, diplomatic soiree with whatever high falutin' uppity up was down on whatever planet, and Spock had a small scrape on his hand. I'd been too busy being grateful to the Enterprise gods for not insisting that i go along on that trip to be overly concerned about what amounted to a paper cut on Spock (not that they used paper any more, but it was an expression--I had to explain that to Spock once, awhile ago...) But ship's protocol dictated that any breaking of skin be examined in medbay and declared contaminant free. 

The perfect excuse to run a quick once over scan on Spock.

Except Spock refused. Rudely.He gave me the raised eyebrow and a "Really, Doctor, for what you would deem a 'papercut' ? I think not..." and kept walking. 

And I felt another unnaturally hot wave of body heat as he walked by me. 

Goddammit, Spock...

Well, you asked for it.

I ducked my head back into the transporter room where Jim was still engaged in conversation with Scotty over, oh hell, whatever they talk about, I don't know. Something about the inertial whatchamacallits or the warp doohickeys. I always stay out of their discussions and avoid a migraine.

"Captain Kirk?" 

Jim looked up, kind of startled at the formality.

"I need to check out Mr. Spock, as protocol dictates after any away mission. He has refused to comply." 

The captain looked exasperated, and I have a pretty good idea what he's thinking. He's never been good at poker. Jim thinks his cranky CMO had stuck him in the middle of another Spock-and-McCoy snarkfest. 

Even Scotty looks vaguely bemused.

Ye of little faith...

"Haven't you noticed he's been running a slight temp lately? His color is off? He's perspiring a bit too. Not like you to be so oblivious, especially where he's concerned."

Jim's moving to the door before I even finished my last sentence. Trust anything remotely threatening to Spock to get his attention.

Spock was about to enter the turbo lift, so Jim raised his voice: 

"Mr. Spock. Report to MedBay, please."

It's mid-Alpha shift so of course there's some traffic in the corridors. Heads turn. 

Spock turned back to look, and I start moving towards him.

"I assure you Captain, I am fully functional. My internal healing process..."

Cheese and toast, he's pigheaded. I bite my lip to keep from groaning.

"Report to MedBay now, Mr. Spock. That's an order." 

And then, "What is up with you anyway? You know this is just protocol."

No response from Spock other than the vaguest of nods in Jim's direction. He's acknowledged the order, but not the concern. 

I get in the turbolift with him. He seethes silently beside me, tight lipped, tight shouldered, tight assed.

Oh, boy. Just another day in paradise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
I scan my reluctant patient a second time. I have to be sure about this. If I'm right, he's not going to be happy. He's going to be...well, not happy. 

Spock hasn't said a word since we both got into the turbo lift. He sits on the biobed, radiating unnatural heat and with a slight bit of sweat on his upper lip. 

Yeah. Like perspiring is a totally normal thing for Vulcans to do on Tuesdays. 

"Dr. McCoy. I hardly think this level of thoroughness is called for over something barely requiring an adhesive bandage."

He's not looking at me, but his voice is long suffering. It's his "I am the superior being" voice. I'm about to start ranting at him, but he's not finished. 

"I will concede that you have demonstrated your authority as Chief Medical Officer over me in such a way that you may claim victory in this round of oneupmanship. Now if you do not mind, I will be returning to my duties. I suggest you find more useful and relevant endeavors to occupy your time."

He actually starts to get up and leave. I can't believe...he's fucking worse than JIm.

"You sit your prissy green behind back down, now. I haven't cleared you to leave yet." 

He sits. 

I take a deep breath. Calm, Leonard...

I consult my readings one more time. The way Spock has been carrying on, you'd think he had some kind of humiliating STD or some such. But no, this is just a simple quirk of his designer physiology. Something I can easily fix and that won't have Uhura strangling him. 

And he's been avoiding a potentially fatal malady because...it's something human.

"Mr. Spock. You are suffering from an acute appendicitis attack, and it must be removed."

He glares at me. Whoah. Last time he looked like that, he had a violent tantrum and almost killed Jim.

Dripping ice, he moves to get off the biobed again. "I suggest that you return to medical school and reacquaint yourself with xenobiology. Vulcans do not have any such organ."

I know better than to try to touch him when he's this pissed off and in pain, touch telepathy being what it is and all--otherwise, rather than the vague "Just a minute" gesture I give him, I'd be slapping him upside his thick Vulcan noggin right about now.

I hold the scanner-Padd out to him so that he can see what I'm seeing and silently point to the infected, inflamed organ in question. There, right at the end of his lower intestine, the bulbous, rattle-shaped appendix.

He stares at it wordlessly, and I notice that his ears are tinged even more green. Something tells me it's not from the infection or fever. 

"Vulcans do not have an appendix, true. But, human-Vulcan hybrids apparently do."

He's humiliated, embarrassed. Mortified, even. All of this pissiness for the past few days. Wasting all his energy trying to be stoic, trying to heal something that his Vulcan training never prepared him for. How do you focus healing energies on an organ you don't even know you have?

"No one ever informed you that you have an appendix?" It's hard to believe, honestly. I guess Vulcans are as good at ignoring and denying unpleasant things as humans.

"They have not. I assume they believed tact was the better part of valor. An infection of this type was never anticipated."

"Yeah, it never is", I mutter. But at least I've got Spock talking again. I'm about to start telling Spock I'll prep him for surgery and he'll be in and out before he knows it, when he throws me another curve ball.

"Now that I have been made aware of the situation, I will be able to correct it myself. Thank you for bringing this to my attention." 

He'd rather deal with this on his own. Because he's fucking embarrassed. 

"Spock. You know, if logic were leather right now, you wouldn't have enough to saddle a flea with. You are half human, that 's a fact. Your momma and your daddy, along with a great many medical personnel and bioengineers, went to a great deal of trouble to create you, and here you are--a human-Vulcan hybrid, with characteristics from both sides. I'd say the best of both worlds, but right now if you want the God's honest truth, your Vulcan logic sucks. Just how "logical" is it, anyway, to create a mixed race being and then have him embrace only one half?"

I hate that my southern accent always comes on thicker than molasses in January when I'm perturbed (or drunk, or exhausted, or aroused...)

I must have raised my voice, because Chapel pokes her head around the curtain with a concerned look. She doesn't say anything. Spock doesn't look at her.

"Prep Surgery Room 2 for him", is all I tell her. She nods. She's dying to know what's going on, I can tell, but discretion is part of being a nurse. She's one of the best.

Doctor, this is not necessary...I can heal this on my own."

"Spock!" I'm sharp, I know, but enough is enough. Maybe if I actually appeal to his logic...?

"Look, you can do that. You can trance out for two days, find your busted innard and fix it, and take care of the infection while you're at it. Of course, that's two days that man upstairs will be without a First Officer, but at least your Vulcan pride will be intact, right? You'll out-Vulcan all the Vulcans. The other alternative is to let me take it out now, pump you full of antibiotics, and have you rest tonight. You'll be in and out in an hour, no muss, no fuss, and back to work tomorrow for alpha shift.. Now which do you prefer? I like the simpler approach, myself, but I'm sure Jim doesn't mind doing double duty for two days while you trance..."

He twitches. Lowers his head slightly.

"Come on, Spock. Yield to the logic of the situation."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
As promised, I take the damn trouble-making, pus-filled, infected appendix out of him and clean him up in twenty minutes. Nyota comes after her shift and sits with him for the better part of an hour, until he wakes up in recovery. She pats my arm and murmers thanks and endearments, and I growl at her. I remind her I'm just doing my job. She smiles like she knows something I don't.

She probably does. I'm almost sure of it.

She steps out when I check on Spock before sending him back to his quarters to rest. Just as I expected, he's just fine. His temp is right where it's supposed to be and he tells me he is pain free. Scans confirm. He's fine. 

Damn I'm good.

"It was a slow day around here today, but you definitely livened things up. You can go. Call me if you have any complications or you need me."

I start to trudge towards my office. I have a report to complete, and JIm's been buzzing around like a bee without a hive. He'll want a full run down. No rest for the wicked, I suppose.

"Leonard".

It always startles me a little when he calls me by my first name, but I play it cool. Here comes some crack about my medical expertise being akin to a witch doctor’s beads and rattles…

I turn. "Mm?" 

"I apologize for my deplorable behavior earlier. I have no excuse and can only surmise it was brought on by my medical condition at the time. You are a skilled physician and invaluable member of this crew, and I thank you for saving my life. I will remember your insight and wisdom in the future and trust your expertise completely."

The door hisses as he leaves. I close my mouth with a click, wondering if any flies found their way in while it was hanging open like that. I probably looked like a trout.

Spock just admitted he was wrong, thanked me and complimented me, all in one day.

I check the nearest window. Yep, there goes one now. That right there is a porcine omnivore, in flight.


End file.
